


Little Red

by Luxie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, Hurt!Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxie/pseuds/Luxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Red Riding Hood AU. Sterek.</p><p>Stiles knows better than most what the darkness hides. He used to play between these trees, but that was before the fire. Now no one ventures out here, because the woods are dark and laced with death. The trees have seen murder and the ground beneath his feet has tasted blood. Stiles knows, and still he runs.</p><p> </p><p>Rating is for the sexy stuff and the dark and slightly graphic gore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red

 

There's a house in the woods. It's large, but neglected - on the verge of being a ruin. The walls are covered in moss and soot and the floor is littered with old leaves and bones of things that crawled in here to die.

The air is thick and smells of rot and burning flesh, even after all these years. People in town say that the smell will never go away and neither will the screams of pain that echoes between the trees at night.

Some say the shrieks are just the bats that hang under the charred rafters of the house, but most people agree it's the sound of the Hale family burning for unknown crimes in the afterlife, screams echoing onto the plane of the living.

Some nights the screams mingle with another howl – deeper and more feral. They once said it was beasts - not wolves, but something darker; not mindless, but ferocious - but no one ever saw them. All the townsfolk ever saw was the gnawed bones left behind and traces of blood between the trees.

When Stiles was little he used to play in the woods, but that was before the fire. The fire changed so many things. People moved away and the forest around the town became darker. It's hard to say how, but everyone agrees. It's like the ashes of the Hale family is still lingering between the trees, blocking out the sun. Only the town is free from the darkness, like a little beacon in the night.

As years passed, however, people began to forget. They forgot the fire and the screaming. They forgot the chill that runs from head to toe when you venture too close. They forgot the  _darkness_  and the way the ground is soaked with blood, rotting and thick like tare.

"It's wolves." They say now, because it's easier to be scared of something you can shoot with a gun or slice open with a knife.

The only one who never forgets is the Sheriff, Stiles' father. He was the one who had to walk into the Hale-house and see the half-burned children with melted eye-balls and fingers with no nails, because they had been scratching on the walls to get out. He was the one who had to inhale the sickening smell of singed flesh and the one to wake up screaming in the middle of the night when it all came back to him night after night after night.

And because of that Stiles never forgets either. Instead he wears the red hoodie his father gave him, but it's not to scare off the beasts. It's so that the sheriff can find his body between the leaves on the forest floor the day the creatures are tired of waiting. Because Stiles knows better than most what the darkness hides.

Stiles is sixteen when the creatures in the darkness becomes impatient.

There's a chilling howl piercing through flesh and bone - a forewarning of claws that can do the same. It shatters the night into screams and wakes Stiles from nightmares that are waiting to come true.

"Stiles?" His father comes bursting through the door with his rifle over his shoulder and Scott barking at his heels. "Get up, get dressed!"

"What's going on?" Stiles asks, but he's already pulling on pants.

"You remember the way through the forest? The one you used to run when you were a kid?"

"Yeah, I remember. What is it?  _Dad_?"

The sheriff raises his hand to silence his son and rough fingers make an attempt at being gentle as they brush down Stiles' cheek, resting for the briefest moment on his shoulder. "I need you to go now. I need you..."

"No, dad!" Stiles interrupts and Scott lets out a sad wailing howl. "I'm not leaving you, tell me what's going on!"

But the sheriff continues. "...to go to the next town. There's a man there they call Grandpa."

"Dad, would you just stop! Tell me what's going on!" The city walls stand solid and tall around town and the Sheriff's deputies are brave men. Surely they are safe inside?

"Be quiet, Stiles, and listen!" His father says sharply. "We don't have time to argue. You need to find Grandpa, but don't trust him. Not for a second, you hear me?"

"I don't even know what's going on!" Stiles pleads, but his father shakes his head and looks at Stiles like he's never going to see him again.

"You do. You  _do_  know, Stiles. And that's why it has to be you." Stiles has never seen his father look scared before, not like this. "No one else understands what's out there, they don't remember. So it has to be you, son."

Stiles slips the hoodie on and pockets a small folding knife and he's at the door before he's even catching on.

"Take Scott. Run fast, don't stop and don't look back." His father opens the door and peaks out into the night. "And remember, find Grandpa, but don't trust him."

"What are  _you_  going to do?" Stiles demands, holding on to the door frame, so his father can't push him out into the night without answers. "Dad? What are you gonna do?"

"What ever I can." He says and leaves Stiles alone in the doorway with Scott barking after him as the darkness swallows his silhouette.

Stiles runs. The darkness doesn't scare him, but he knows it's more than darkness out there. Scott runs next to him, pointy ears constantly moving and bristles raised.

He follows the road and it's more from memory than sight, because the red moon above him doesn't reach down between the thick tree tops. On the ground everything is suffocating darkness and liquid shadows threatening to crawl into his mouth and nose and eyes and choke him. But Stiles keeps running, even when the darkness wraps around his ankles and makes him stumble and fall, making the palm of his hands bleed.

The forest takes his blood as a sacrifice and lets him run a little further.

Stiles doesn't even see it at first. If Scott hadn't stopped, big paws digging into soft mud and lips sneering back to reveal long canines with a snarl, Stiles might have run right into it.

The huge creature is blocking the road, still and black as the night around them. All that gives it away is the red eyes, shining like the blood-red moon above them. It ignores Scott who barks bravely, and Stiles is pretty sure the thing in front of them could break Scott's spine with a lazy crunch of its jaws.

Blood thunders in Stiles' ears as the creature leans back and raises its muzzle to the blood-moon. The howl is deafening and numbing, bouncing off the trees and echoing for what seems like forever in the dead-silence of the forest.

But it doesn't move.

And that's when Stiles realizes that they're at an impasse; There is no point in running, but he can't stay and the creature is waiting for his move. But in the end Scott makes the decision for him, breaking heel and diving into the beast with bared teeth and all the courage of a lion.

Stiles doesn't wait; he can't wait. He can't stay and watch Scott get ripped to shreds, won't stay and listen to the pitiful whimpers as the dog bleeds out on the ground, over-sized heart beating pointlessly with no connection to a brain.

Maybe he'll cry later, maybe he'll come back when this is over and bury what ever remains he can find, but for now he runs. Thorns and low brush rips his hands and leaves gashes on his face, but he doesn't notice. And if the creature is closing in behind him he doesn't hear it. All he has to hold on to is the frantic beat of his own heart.

 _"Run away little boy, run away!"_  The forest whispers, and Stiles feels like he's running on a stage, around and around while the audience watches and waits for him to be caught. " _Run Little Red. Run for your life."_

* * *

It's been hours since he left the screams of the town behind and now, here in the graying light before the dawn breaks, it's like the entire forest holds its breath.

When the pale light begins to filter through the treetops Stiles is hardly moving forward. And to what use would it even be? He has no idea where he is.

His dad told him not to stop, but Stiles has to. He needs water and his legs won't hold him up for much longer. He wonders, as he crawls onto a large rock with a shallow pool full of rainwater and half-rotten leaves, if there's even any point of going on. Now that he knows what was attacking town he has little hope that anyone is still alive.

He bends down to drink, lips hovering just above the mirror of the water. The reflection stares at him with accusation and anger. "Of course your father is alive." It says. "Don't you give up on him for a minute! Don't you dare!"

Stiles closes his eyes and drinks, ignoring the bitter taste.

"What are you doing here?"

Stiles bolts backwards - uncoordinated and ungraceful - and tumbles off the rock. The soft ground breaks his fall, but he's too scared to notice. It takes an embarrassing thirty seconds to realize that the person asking had to have been human and not a black-furred monster with red eyes. Slowly he gets to his knees and peaks over the top of the rock.

The man who spoke is young. He's dressed in sensible clothes, leather and thick linen made to resist the weather and cold. His hair is dark, almost black and grey eyes are fixed on Stiles, assessing and curious.

Stiles realizes that he's staring at the stranger only when the man moves impatiently.

"I - ehm, I think I'm lost." Stiles shrugs, unsure how he's supposed to explain why he's sitting here alone in the middle of the forest with no idea where he is or where he's going, because he's an idiot who can't follow a road.

"Lost?" The man offers an amused smile. "This is a pretty dangerous place to be lost. Trust me, I know these woods."

Stiles gets to his feet and barely manages to keep standing; his legs are so heavy and he's just realizing now that he strained an ankle. "You think maybe you could point me in the direction of the road then?"

The man doesn't answer at first. Instead he looks at Stiles, looks as if he's trying to see through attitude and skin and flesh, see right into the heart and mind of him. In the end he nods. "Sure. It's not like I'd leave you here on your own, but I have to warn you. It's a two hour walk and you don't seem like you're up for it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm peachy! Or better than that, actually. I'm  _immaculate_. And that's a real word, my dad taught me."

"I hope the rest of you can run as fast as your mouth." The man says with a sigh. "You might still need it." Then he turns and walks off – in the wrong direction.

"Hey! Hey, Forest-guy. Is there any chance you can get me to the road in the… Well, other direction?" Stiles points behind them, in the direction of where (he's pretty sure) he came from.

"There's no road back there. Not one you're going to reach before night, anyway." The man says with a frown. "And it's Derek. Call me Forest-guy again and I'll make sure a sprained ankle is the least of your problems."

And it's pretty weak as far as threats go , especially since a sprained ankle already is the least of his problems, so Stiles just lets his mouth hang open in false shock of the rudeness and starts limping out of the clearing in protest. Luckily Derek falls for it and with a painful sigh he comes jogging up on Stiles' side. Stiles has to admit it feels good to not be alone right now, even if he's not quite sure he trusts this Derek fella, but right now the sun is up and the birds are singing and there's a complete lack of black-furred monsters lurking in the shadows, so Stiles grits his teeth and limps after Derek, trusting the stranger to know the woods around them.

"You're not gonna make it to the road like that." Derek says matter of factually after just twenty minutes. He keeps glancing back at Stiles, sometimes even taking a short pause to make sure Stiles doesn't fall too far behind. "What are you even doing out here? It's miles away from everything."

"Picnic. Yeah, I always go out here to enjoy the nature and a good lunch, you know?"

Derek huffs out something that could qualify as laughter. "Picnic, hu? Can I ask where your food is?"

"I live off the riches of the land." Stiles deadpans. "What'd ya say we don't talk about this right now, okay? I mean, you look friendly enough, for a serial killer type, but there's only so much information a guy can share on a first date with out looking like he's trying too hard."

"A simple "no" would have sufficed." Derek says, but it's less brooding and more amused.

"Really? Because my dad tells me no all the time, and I'll tell you what, that word? Means nothing to me; might as well have been a different language."

"Good thing I speak fluent teenager, then." Derek throws back and for a while the banter takes Stiles' mind off his pain and worries.

Derek doesn't allow for real breaks. Instead he keeps the pace slow and takes his time to guide them through the trees to avoid the large blackberry thickets and steep gullies. Once in a while he tells Stiles to go on in a certain direction and leaves to scout ahead. Stiles is really surprised how far he managed to run during the night and also how he managed not to fall and break his neck in the darkness. Sometimes Derek returns with berries or wild fruits for Stiles and around lunch time Derek stops at a small brook and tells Stiles to drink.

They don't talk a lot, but Stiles doesn't mind so much. He'd like a distraction, but at the same time he knows he needs to save energy. When the sun begins to hang low and the forest gets darker Derek returns with a dead rabbit and tells Stiles that this is as far as they're going to get today. An old pine has been toppled by a storm and the large net of roots provides shelter from both wind and the light drizzle that starts up around dusk. Derek makes a fire and Stiles tries in vain to find a comfortable patch of dirt to sit on.

"I'm so hungry I'm pretty sure my stomach has begun to digest itself." Stiles says and moves closer to the fire and the roasting rabbit.

"I thought you lived off the land?" Derek reminds him with a small smile. Stiles makes a face that's not very mature.

"Nah, I..." He hesitates, because he knows he doesn't exactly owe Derek anything, except maybe his life and his eternal gratitude, but not anything when it comes to explanations. But he can't help but think that if he can tell Derek the truth, actually say out loud what has happened, then it might be less frightening and surreal. "I - I'm not really out here for my enjoyment."

"I figured as much." Derek says and turns the rabbit. He doesn't look at Stiles, but Stiles knows Derek is expecting him to go on.

"My dad told me to run away. Or well, not  _away_  so much as  _towards_. I'm supposed to get to the next town and find someone. Hopefully that someone can help." Stiles' mouth moves a bit without producing sound. He's trying to find the right words, but they somehow keep escaping him. "I just don't know if it's even any help at this point. I don't know if anyone is still even alive."

"That sounds bad." Derek says with a frown, eyes searching Stiles' face. "What happened?"

"I don't know... well, I'm not sure. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Try me."

"Would you believe me if I told you it was monsters?" Stiles asks, but he can't even say the words without smiling, because it sounds so ridiculous now.

But Derek isn't smiling. "I would. When you live out here in the forest you see things. These woods are full of monsters." Derek turns the rabbit over the flames again. "I learned that when I was younger."

Stiles doesn't know what to say to that, so instead he looks into the flames licking against the meat of the rabbit, making the skin crackle and liquid fat bubble out.

"Why do you wear that stupid red hoodie anyway?" Derek asks when he lifts the rabbit off the fire and starts cutting it up with his knife.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "Haven't you heard? Red keeps away the beasts of the forest…"

Derek snorts. "No, it doesn't and you're too smart to believe that anyway, so why do you wear it?"

Stiles hesitates. It's his story, he doesn't have to share it with Derek. But he wants to, just like he wanted to tell him about the monsters that attacked his town.

"When I was younger my mom went out into the forest and got killed. My dad looked everywhere for her, but he never found her. So he gave me a red shirt, so he'd always be able to find me."

"And everyone else can find you too. Wolves, wraiths… monsters."

"You found me."

"I know." Derek says and there's something close to a smile on his face. "I think I know what's attacking your town, though. From what you've told me it's fast and strong and bloodthirsty. But the good thing is it's probably alone."

"How do you know that?"

"Like I said. I know about monsters. You said you had to find someone?"

"Yeah. My dad told me to find someone called Grandpa."

"I'll go with you." Derek said, poking the fire. "I'll help you find him."

Stiles feels a swell of warmth running through him and he realizes how cold and lost he's been feeling. While they eat Stiles tries to tell himself that everything's going to be okay now. He looks into the flames and tries not to think about black fur and red eyes and claws that can easily split open a grown man, rip him to shreds and leave him bleeding to death with intestines spread out on the cold ground.

When they've eaten Derek throws more wood on the fire. The circle of light around them is small and fragile and Stiles isn't even sure it would hold off the monsters. But at least it'll allow them to see when the monsters are coming. Stiles guesses that's the best they can hope for - extra time to run. Because run is all they can do. They have no guns or rifles, not even a proper dagger. Stiles moves closer to the fire and tries not to think about how he'll managed to find the strength to run away again.

"You want to take turns keeping watch?" Stiles asks and wraps his arms around himself, more for support than warmth. The trees are looking at them, rotten holes for eyes and gaping mouths.

"No," Derek says with a small smile. "You need to sleep."

"I'm not sure I can sleep, you know?" Stiles says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Now that I know what's out there..."

"If you expect to walk anywhere tomorrow you need to rest now." Derek throws another branch on the fire. "You've trusted me this far. So do us both a favour and go to sleep. I'll keep watch."

Stiles doesn't stay awake much longer after that. He falls into an uneasy sleep full of red eyes crying blood and black fur that burns and melts and becomes darkness, thick and suffocating. At some point during the night, however, the fur becomes something else, warm and soothing and Stiles thinks in his sleep that Scott has found him and has come to keep him safe.

* * *

Stiles wakes up to the smell of smoke and stale earth, wet from rain and moldy. He feels like his entire body should be falling apart, that it already has and someone put it back together the wrong way. There's not a joint that's not aching, not a patch of skin that's not covered in scratches or mud or dried-up blood.

He can't see Derek anywhere, but he's not worried - doesn't have the strength to worry. Instead he sits up with some difficulty and examines his ankle. It's swollen and sore, but not excessively so. When he gets to his feet and takes a few testing steps it's not as bad as he'd feared. Truth be told the rest of his body hurts just as bad.

"You shouldn't walk on that ankle." Derek says as he appears in the clearing. He looks surprisingly rested and relaxed.

"Guess you'll just have to carry me then." Stiles jokes.

Derek rolls his eyes at him, saying: "I'm not your mule."

"You're as stubborn as one, though." Stiles mumbles, brushing bits of dead leaves out of his own hair. Derek huffs out an amused sound and kicks wet dirt over the embers, making sure the smoke is gone before they leave the clearing.

Like yesterday they keep a steady pace. Derek steers them past a hazel thicket and they collect a few handfuls of nuts each. Stiles cuts a long stem off and uses his small knife to make one end pointy while they're walking. He hasn't seen anything moving between the trees, not yesterday or today, but it doesn't hurt to have a weapon.

After a few hours Derek leaves to scout ahead. They've been following a wide ravine that cuts through the forest, hoping to find a place to cross, but so far no luck. Stiles is biting back pain with every step, using the spear as a walking stick. He's debating with himself if he should demand a break when ever Derek returns when the first few drops start falling through the canopy above. It doesn't take long for the moist forest floor to become a muddy sludge from the pouring rain and Stiles moves closer to the ravine where the terrain is made up of cliffs instead. It's a little harder on his ankle, but at least he's not getting stuck.

That's when he sees it, blurred by the curtain of rain: a huge, black form padding along on the other side of the ravine. He stumbles and slips on the wet rocks, hitting his knee, but he doesn't even feel the pain or the blood as it soaks through the fabric of his pants, because adrenalin is already flooding his system.

_Run, little boy. Run for your life._

When he risks another glance across the ravine the beast has stopped, red eyes fixed on Stiles. Panic overrides all reason and he fumbles for the hazel stick - the only proper weapon he has - praying that the beast can't possibly jump that far. His fingers just scarp over sharp stone and he cast a quick glance down and realizes that the makeshift spear is gone. He looks around, spotting it on a small shelf some 15 feet down in the ravine.

"Derek!" He yells, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he regrets it, because across the span of the ravine the black monster lets out a deep rumbling sound. Stiles swallows and crawls closer to the edge, keeping his eyes on the mass of black fur as he moves. The stick isn't that far down and the slope isn't very steep. He's pretty sure he can get down and back up, even with his ankle, so he casts a last glance across the ravine, but the beast is gone.

" _Go on straight ahead_ , he said.  _I'll keep an eye out_ , he said. _I won't go far_." Stiles mumbles under his breath as he slowly makes his way down the cliffs. It's not that he blames Derek for this, it's not. But just for a short while he felt like things were going to work out, that if he trusted Derek things would be fine.

"Stiles!"

Derek's voice is loud and much closer than Stiles would have expected and it makes him snap his head up to see. The movement makes him lose balance and his fingers slip on the wet stone - he fights for purchase, but there's just empty space.

He hits the shelf below, back colliding with sharp stone. The pain in his leg is so blinding that he doesn't even realize he's hit his head as well. Not until everything goes blurry and Derek's voice up ahead sounds muffled. "Stiles! God damn it, Stiles. Don't do this to me now. Stay with me."

Then everything goes quiet.

* * *

The sounds are the first to return, chasing away dark dreams of blood pooling, thick and black, and flesh being torn. It seemed so real, but Stiles knows it was a dream, because no one can suffer through being maimed like that and not scream. The only screams he remembers were his own.

"Your leg is pretty torn up, but it's not broken." Derek's tired voice says close to his ear and Stiles becomes aware that he's popped up against Derek's chest. Somewhere to their left there's the crackling sounds of a fire. "There's a deep gash down your side and you have a few pressed ribs. Your wrist and shoulder were dislocated, I had to pop them back in. I though you were never going to stop screaming."

"You sure aren't sugar coating it." Stiles croaks out. He can taste blood and bile and ash. Derek shifts and Stiles feels wood pressed to his mouth and then water, cold and soothing, running between his dry lips.

"You didn't hurt your head as badly as I thought." Derek offers as Stiles drinks and it's a shitty comfort, but Stiles guesses that's probably the only good news there is to deliver.

"They're all going to die now. There's no way I'll make it to town to get help." Stiles says and makes an effort to open his eyes. That's when he realizes that there's a warm hand covering his eyes and a gentle thumb rubbing across his forehead in sympathy.

"We're closer to the next town than I thought. We'll go in tomorrow. Now you need to relax." Derek moves them both closer to the warmth of the fire. The hand covering his eyes stays in place. "What were you doing playing mountain goat for, anyway?" Derek asks and Stiles jerks when fingers brush around sore flesh on his side as Derek examines the gash. He wonders if Derek has closed it up.

"I dropped my spear." He says and it sounds so stupid when he says it out loud.

"You risked you life for a stick?" Derek's voice is amused and Stiles feels hot breath on his neck.

"It was the only protection I had!"

"I'm the only protection you have." The thumb presses against Stiles' forehead, the closest to a physical reprimand Derek dares. "All you had to do was to trust me."

"With my life, yeah. I don't even know you." And it sounds absurd, especially as they sit here, pressed close to keep away the cold and nightmarish remains of the day.

Apparently Derek thinks so too, because he huffs out a soft laugh, warm breath dancing across Stiles' neck. "I used to swim in the stream. I was so fast, faster than my sister and she was usually better than me at everything. Her name was Laura. I once broke my arm, but I heal pretty quickly. Made me realize I wasn't immortal, though." As Derek talks the pressure of his hand against Stiles' eyes become lighter. "Then I learned what death really means. When my family died I didn't speak for a month. I was your age."

Stiles turns his head and this time Derek's hand doesn't follow. He blinks a few times, not surprised to see it's dark. Derek is leaned against a fallen tree and he's staring into the fire. Stiles swallows. He's not sure what to say, so he keeps quiet, watching Derek's face.

"You're not much older than me though." He manages in the end and it's true. There are no lines on Derek's face, not even by his eyes. It's the stubble, Stiles thinks, that makes him look older than he is. In reality he's just a big kid, like Stiles.

"Wiser though." Derek says.

"And stronger." Stiles agrees.

"And faster."

"Definitely prettier." Stiles mocks, happy that Derek is playing along.

"Shut up." Derek growls, but it's soft and so is the brush of Derek's nose as it nuzzles the back of Stiles' neck.

Someone once told Stiles that `nothing makes you horny like near-death experiences´ and he's beginning to agree. Slowly he moves his hand down, fingertips grazing the hair on Derek's arm, caressing the soft inside of Derek's elbow. He can feel Derek's breath speeding up and he swallows, voice broken as he asks, "How badly am I hurt?"

Derek takes a deep breath and growls, low and surrendering. Then his hand moves to take a hold of Stiles' wrist, pressing both their hands down to Stiles' waistband. "I'll be careful."

Stiles is not sure he allowed the broken, pleading moan to leave his mouth, but more soon follow. Derek wraps their hands around Stiles' hardening cock, fingers intertwining, but there isn't enough room to  _move._ So Derek untangles from the grip and then both his hands are finding Stiles' hip bones, sliding Stiles' pants down over the swell of his ass, careful as if Stiles was breakable.

Derek's hands feels like fire wherever they connect with Stiles' skin, leaving invisible traces behind as they move down hips and thighs. Stiles sucks in a quick breath when Derek's hand returns to his cock. He's not sure where to put his own hands so he reaches up and behind, knotting his fingers in Derek's thick mane of hair, ignoring the way it pulls in his side.

Carefully, testing, he pushes back into Derek's groin, clenching his teeth as the movement sends pain shooting through his leg. But it's worth it when he feels Derek's erection pressing against the small of his back and Stiles tries to push back further, to grind against it.

He's distracted when Derek's hand lets go, returning wet with spit to move faster and slicker up and down Stiles' cock. When Derek's other hand pushes under Stiles' shirt to trace the soft skin there Stiles thinks that this is it; Derek is officially trying to break him apart and ruin him.

"Derek..."

Derek just hums into Stiles' ear, breath hot and wet. He presses his lips against the side of Stiles' neck, something between a kiss and a bite.

"Derek, I can't..."

"Tell me to stop." Derek whispers, but Stiles just shakes his head frantically and Derek tightens his grip. The added pressure has Stiles thrusting desperately into Derek's hand, unable to keep his hips still. Derek slides his other hand from Stiles' chest to rest on Stiles' hips to hold him still, whispering: "Careful. Don't hurt yourself."

"I thought you spoke fluent teenager..." Stiles pants, biting back pain as he pushes further back into Derek. "And that was definitely a challenge."

Derek lets out a soft laugh, mouth moving from Stiles' neck to the edge of his jaw and Stiles turns his head to expose more of himself. Derek traces the line of Stiles' jaw to his earlobe with his tongue and for a few seconds the teasing intensity of it has Stiles forgetting what Derek's hands are doing. But then Derek starts to twist his wrist on the upswing and it's all just too much; Intense pleasure completely overwriting the pain in his body. Stiles can't help but grind back into Derek on every backstroke, but it's not good enough. He slips a hand from Derek's hair and back between their bodies, rubbing against Derek's own erection, feeling the other man come apart behind him. Derek's erratic breathing, wet and hitching has Stiles moaning and he doesn't even care, not even as the noise echoes and bounces between the trees, because Derek is right there with him, tumbling over the edge with closed eyes and blind trust.

Stiles opens his eyes only when Derek starts to shift uncomfortably behind him. He tightens his fingers around Derek's softening cock, wiping as much of Derek's cum off of him as possible as he retracts his hands from Derek's pants. He holds the hand out and spreads his fingers, letting the white strings web between them.

"I feel like I know you a little better now." Stiles mumbles as Derek's arms wraps around his chest, careful not to brush against the gash in Stiles' side.

"Shut up." Derek says and buries his face in the crook of Stiles' shoulder, breathing in deep until Stiles gives in to sleep.

* * *

Dawn breaks through the trees and wakes Stiles from dark dreams. Derek is still wrapped around him, large body giving off heat and absorbing Stiles' tremors.

"You talk in your sleep." Derek informs him, and Stiles isn't sure how Derek always knows when he's awake. "Nightmares."

"Yeah, well." Stiles mutters and presses closer to the heat of Derek's body, ignoring the sting in his side. "Apparently you deal with monsters better than I do."

"Or maybe you're just afraid of the wrong monsters." Derek sounds impatient, or maybe disappointed. He untangles himself from Stiles and starts kicking mud on the embers. Stiles fights to a sitting position, looking at Derek's back as he moves around.

"Oh man, is this going to be the awkward morning after where you'll be all broody and full of regret?"

Derek stops moving around and Stiles can actually see the tension in his shoulders. Then, slowly, Derek turns and walks over to where Stiles is sitting, crouching down to Stiles' eye level and he looks so much like a prowling wolf that Stiles has to swallow. "You're so smart, so why don't you tell me." Derek says and his eyes searches Stiles' face, soft and curious. "I don't have a habit of getting off every random kid that comes running into my forest."

Stiles feels a slight flush creep up his neck. "So I should feel special then?"

"You should." Derek says and gently pushes Stiles around so he can get a hold under his knees and behind his back to lift him up. "But I swear, if you make a single donkey joke I'll drop you like a sack of rocks."

Stiles bites his tongue to keep from calling Derek an ass.

Getting carried around like this might be a bit emasculating in theory, but Stiles finds that he doesn't mind much. In fact, when they reach the level dirt road after a short hour, Stiles is surprisingly reluctant to be set down. He manages to convince himself that it's only because his ankle hurts when he puts weight on it. Derek supports most of Stiles' weight for the better part of three miles until Stiles blank out refuses to take another step.

Derek crouches down and examines Stiles' ankle with a concerned frown. "I didn't realize you'd be healing this slowly."

"You don't get hurt much, hu?"

"No." Derek simply answers and stretches out of his crouch without looking at Stiles. "Not for a long time."

"So maybe you'd want to carry me again." Stiles aims for innocent, but misses the mark by miles. Derek fakes annoyed resignation and turns his back so Stiles can crawl up, but Stiles doesn't miss the way Derek carefully helps him up or the softness in his voice as he asks if Stiles is sitting okay. This way of being carried is much less intimate and Stiles allows himself to relax into the contact as he starts to tell Derek bits and pieces about his life, about his dad and Scott. It hurts to talk about, but Derek understands, and when Stiles has too stop talking because the pain of the memories and the pain in his side becomes too great Derek distracts him by telling stories about how he and Laura used to build animals in the snow every winter.

But then Derek stops talking and Stiles raises his head. The city wall is standing tall and dark up ahead, half obscured by a light mist, but that's not why Derek stopped. On the road in front of them there's a dead doe, the open crater in its neck and the big black eyes full of flies.

Derek takes a few more steps and lowers Stiles from his back, even as he moves closer. Stiles hardly feels the pain in his ankle as he comes up on Derek's side and sees the claw marks on the animal. Derek crouches down and hesitantly his fingers brushes over the mark on the doe's side: a perfect spiral drawn in blood.

Stiles swallows and looks around, but for once the trees are silent. He's not sure why he starts to shake, except a mindless beast wouldn't be drawing spirals on its prey. "That's the town up ahead. We should keep moving."

"I need to know what this is." Derek says and gets to his feet. "Stay here."

"Derek? Derek, the town's right there." Stiles yells just as Derek disappears from sight into the thick mess of ferns and mist. Stiles turns, spins and the world seems to be spinning too. He tries to look in between the trees, but there's nothing to see. There's a rustle somewhere, but it could be anything and the mist makes it impossible to pin-point where it came from. Still he listens, listens until he hears his own breath hitch in his throat, his own heart banging in his chest like a caged bird of prey.

It's on the road between him and town when he turns to face it, watching him silently and motionless with its red eyes. With a lazy stretch of muscles the beast begins to move, circling him, sniffing. He tries to turn with it, limping around himself, and the world slows down. He doesn't realize that he's holding his breath until his lungs starts to hurt and when he draws breath it's a shaking sob that sounds deafening even in his own ears and the beast rumbles deep in its throat.

Stiles stumbles backwards, tripping over air and falling helplessly on his back. The beast lowers its body, getting ready to jump, but then Derek is there, charging into the beast. Stiles watches in panic as the beast gets on its hind legs and claws at Derek, tearing deep into flesh and tendons. Derek's knees give in and Stiles watches in slow motion how Derek stumbles and falls, blood bubbling from his mouth.

"Run, Stiles." He chokes out pushing himself away from the beast, away from where Stiles is lying frozen. "Move!"

And Stiles does. He ignores the way his ankle hurts and the way blood starts running down his leg as the gash in his side springs up. He ignores the way his chest aches every time he draws in breath. He even tries to ignore the sound of the beast roaring behind him, the sound of Derek calling out to distract it, voice shaking.

_Run little boy. Run and don't look back._

The gate creaks open as he closes in on the city wall and the moment he's through there are guards around him, catching him before his legs give in under him.

"Get the Doc." Someone calls, and everything turns into chaos.

"I need to find someone." Stiles croaks, fighting to stay conscious. "Grandpa. I need to find Grandpa."

"Easy, kid." The guard says, hands pressing against the bleeding wound in Stiles' side. "Just try t'stay awake, the Doctor's on 'is way."

But Stiles doesn't stay awake, he doesn't want to. As he blacks out on the cold stones Derek's face follows him into the darkness.

* * *

The tea is lukewarm and bitter, but Stiles drinks it down anyway. The chair he's sitting in is huge and soft like the one his own grandfather used to have, but Stiles doesn't relax into it, because remnants of nightmares are still lingering from his sleep and this time there's no one to chase them away.

"Stiles, right?" The old man asks and Stiles nods. He's already told his story to the city guards, but this is the man he came here to find, so he tells it all again. "I knew your father when we lived in your town, before we moved away. He's a brave man."

"He is." Stiles nods. "But he needs help."

"I know." The old man says, putting a comforting hand on Stiles' shoulder. "The guards are getting ready to leave as we speak. All you have to do is tell me where we can find the beast. Where is Derek Hale?"

"Derek..." Stiles blinks, feeling dizzy and confused. "Hale?"

"He followed you here, no doubt trying to get to me. He's a monster and if he's really hurt as badly as you tell me then now is the time to strike."

"But weren't you listening? Derek saved me from the monster!"

"Did he now? You were hurt and burning from fever. Don't you think it's more likely you hallucinated? Derek Hale is a monster - you're lucky you got away alive." Stiles shakes his head like a stubborn child, because he doesn't want to face the way the pieces fit together all too well. Grandpa tightens his hold on Stiles' shoulder. "Your dad sent you to me for help, remember? So tell me what I need to know in order to help you."

"No he..."  _You need to find Grandpa, but don't trust him. Not for a second, you hear me?_ His dad's words echoes back to him and he shakes his head again, trying to clear it, but it's so heavy. "This isn't..."

"This isn't  _what_? You thought Derek was some kind of hero who sacrificed himself to keep you safe? Naive little boy. He's the monster who killed your dad, with the claws and fur and fangs to prove it. I've been hunting him for years, but he's smart. Probably managed to keep it hidden from you too, or maybe you didn't want to see."

Stiles closes his eyes.  _Fur in the darkness, warm and comforting. It's dark because Derek keeps Stiles' eyes covered, not letting him see. Across the ravine the beast looks at him. He calls out for Derek and the beast growls in answer. Stiles runs away, runs from the monster and right into Derek, waiting so Stiles can lead him to Grandpa._  Stiles' eyes snaps open and he's shaking, not just his head, but his whole body.

"No. I  _know_  what I saw. My dad told me not to trust you." Stiles tries to get to his feet, but he's still weak and the old man is stronger than he seems, holding Stiles in the chair with what seems like little effort. _You're scared of the wrong monsters._

 _The Hale House burned and the family too, children screaming in the night. People moved away. Grandpa moved away, thinking he had killed all the beasts, but_ _Derek survived. Derek is the beast. And he's been_ _roaming the forest, trying to find the one who killed his family. And Stiles' dad knew. The Sheriff remembered what everyone else forgot and when Derek attacked town he sent Stiles to find Grandpa, to lead the beast where it needed to go. No, there were two. There had to be two, Stiles had_ seen _them._

"Who is the other?" Stiles demands and Grandpa pulls back, cold eyes gleaming in the light of the fireplace. "Who's the other Wolf?"

"Those unnatural beasts aren't wolves!" The old man roars. "They're freaks. Abominations! Mindless and evil, but easily controlled. I found one in the remains, barely alive. Every breath it took was a sin. But one body was missing. The boy. So I took the creature and made it mine to command. And when I heard your father had been helping the Hale kid survive I sent my own monster. To kill the only ones who could threaten me."

"Because my dad remembered."

"Because he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut!" Grandpa sneers, lips pulling back to bare his teeth. "A family trade, it seems. I guess I can manage to wipe out one more family."

Stiles tries to slip past the old man, but he stumbles and trips, head spinning and body refusing to respond.

"It's the tea." The old man says, sounding almost comforting as he pulls out the long hunting knife. "Mild sedative so it won't hurt. You're not a monster, after all."

"No,  _you are_." Stiles whispers, eyes stinging with tears of anger and exhaustion.

When the door slams open, Stiles doesn't even have the strength to feel relief. Derek's shirt is ripped and his side is smeared with blood, but he doesn't seem injured, which Stiles knows is wrong, because he  _saw_. He saw the monster rip Derek open, saw blood spill, and now Derek is here, seemingly uninjured and  _pissed._

Derek walks right up to Grandpa and Stiles just manages to see the nails on Derek's hand grow out to long claws before he buries those claws deep in Grandpa's chest, effectively puncturing his lungs. Grandpa's eyes goes wide and he's mouth moves uselessly, with out breath to make sound.

"I should have burned you instead!" Derek growls close to the old man's ear and he retracts his claws, leaving Grandpa to fall to the floor like a rag doll. A long death rattle bubbles from his blood-filled mouth.

"Stiles!" Derek falls to his knees and hands cup Stiles' face, thumb tracing his cheek gently, always gentle. "Stiles, stay with me, talk to me."

Stiles opens his eyes and looks up into Derek's, searching for any trace of red there. "Is my dad dead?"

"No. My uncle - the other... beast," Derek cringes at the word. "He left town when you ran away. Because he knew I'd be following you too. Your town is safe." Derek moves so he can pull Stiles into his arms, holding on like Stiles is an anchor.

"You saved my life. Again." Stiles whispers, reaching up to run fingers over Derek's stubbled cheek. "Is that going to be a thing? You being my hero?"

"You're so smart, so why don't you tell me." Derek says smiling. And then he pulls Stiles up so he can kiss him and it's soft and careful and full of the need for reassurance. And Stiles kisses him back, hoping he'll never have to stop. Hoping he can keep kissing Derek 'till the end of time.

~The End~

 

**Author's Note:**

> First off I'd like to thank Kate for her amazing art, the existence of which was the only reason I managed to write this.  
> This is of course solely for my own enjoyment and sick pleasure, but I hope you like it as well.


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